Daedric War of the Past, Present, and Future
by XxOGSalazarSlytherinxX
Summary: When a Daedric curse sends Hermione back into the fourth era, it's up to the hero's of that time to send her back, but they might be hero's that shaped her future. ( I suck at summaries, but I think this story is a winner)
Hermione opened her eyes and felt the pain register across her right arm instantly, and grabbed it instinctively. She looked over at it and found it in a make shift cast and arm sling. What the hell happened? Where the hell was she? Her eyes scanned the room quickly. It was a small room, with black and red banners that decorated the walls; some bore a black, right hand print, while others bore a symbol that she did not recognize. She was on a small cot that was far from comfortable, and next to her was a wooden bedside table, which had a single candle in the middle that lit up the room on its own. Wherever she was, it was quiet. Extremely, quiet. She could hear the echo of her small movements reverberate past the door in her room.

As she sat there, trying to remember the past events, she heard footsteps a little ways from her room. They were very light and quick footsteps… and they seemed to be coming closer. She tried to come up with an idea or some type of plan, but realized that with her injuries, she was going to be no good in a fight, so she chose to pretend to be asleep. She kept her eyes somewhat open however; just enough to see what was going on around her.

After a few moments, the door opened. A tall figure in black and red walked in, carrying a small box in his hands. He had a cowl over his head and a mask that went across his mouth and nose. He walked over to a lantern hanging on the wall and lit it with a free hand. He put the box down on the table next to her cot and rolled up the sleeve on her left arm, and took her pulse. She tried to keep herself calm, relaxing her heartbeat the best she could. She heard a muffled sigh as he rolled her sleeve back down, and set her arm back next to her body. He opened the box and took out a few items, but she couldn't tell what they were from the angle she was at. He turned back to her and started to pull up her shirt but stopped, when a loud, strangled cry came from somewhere beyond the room. She heard him mutter something to himself before storming out of the room.

In his absence, she sat up and held back the groan that was close to escaping her lips. She looked over at the table, and saw the objects that were pulled from the box. She saw a few rags, and an instrument that looked like a longer, more intimidating version of a scalpel. She grabbed it quickly, not knowing when the masked man would return, and concealed it in her sleeve, laying back down. After what seemed like forever, he came back, shutting the door behind him. He made his way back to her, and began to pull her shirt up. He stopped just below her breasts, which she was appreciative for, and began to wipe up stray blood from the gash on her stomach with a rag from the table. Hermione was just waiting for her chance; that millisecond opening. And patience was a virtue, for she got that opening.

As he turned to grab something from the box, she pushed the intimidating blade deep into his shoulder blade, and she did so with so much force, that he lost his balance, stumbling backwards away from her.

"ARGHHHH!" he screamed in pain. She jumped from the bed, to the best of her ability, and sprinted out of the room, ignoring the pain she felt.

"Wait! Stop!" she heard him cry out to her in an Irish accent. She didn't follow his orders and just kept running. She had no idea where she was going, she just knew she had to get away from him. Wherever she was, it was a maze. She just kept going down long, dreary hallways, taking turns as she went. Right turn. Left turn. Right. Right. Left. Right again. The turns never stopped. After every couple of turns she would come to both a right and a left turn.

 _Merlin, how big is this place? How am I going to find my way out of here?_ She thought to herself. All of a sudden she could see a dim light down the hallway that was different from the lights that illuminated the walls. It gave a homier feel to it, she couldn't explain it. She had no idea how, but she started running faster to it. She was relieved. Maybe this was the way out!

Her relief was short lived. As she got closer she began to notice where she was headed. The room was a dome shape. It was a nice change of scenery from the square room and rectangular hallways she had gotten used to these past few minutes. But the contents inside were a different story.

There was a giant coffin in the middle that was closed shut. It was standing upright on top of what seemed to be very old skulls, and it was made to be the main attraction of the room. Almost like it was worshipped. She slowed down without knowing it, and was so focused that she didn't see the other…things… in the room. Not until it appeared in front of her.

She screamed when the ghost of a hooded figure popped up a mere two inches from her face.

"UNWORTHY! UNWORHTY!" it shouted at her. All of a sudden, more ghosts appeared around her, all shouting the same thing. She became frightened, starting to panic and shut down. She crouched down and brought her knees to her chest, tears running down her cheeks as she prayed for them to stop or go away.

In the background, the barking of a dog could barely be heard over the screaming and wailing of the ghosts around her. One by one the ghosts went away, and she felt warmish hands grab her back and left arm very softly. She went to jerk away, but stopped as she realized it wasn't the cold hands of the beings that were once harassing her not moments ago.

"Let's go, love." he said, as he led her away from the spot of her panic.

The next thing she could recall was "waking up" from her comatose state. The masked man was sitting in a chair in the corner of the dimly lit room. She sat up slightly as to get a better look at him.

"How are you dearie?" he asked her.

"Where am I?" she replied instead. She had no idea who he was. Why would she give him any vital information about herself? No. She'll ask the questions. He'll give the answers.

"You're safe. That's all that matters." He said.

"How did I get here?"

"I brought you here of course. I found you, a few days from Windhelm. You were a few moments from death, you were. You're extremely lucky I found you when I did."

 _What? Windhelm? Death? What in Merlin was going on?_

"Windhelm?" she asked confusingly.

"Ah, figured you wouldn't remember. Yes, I found you in the snow, which was soaked with blood. Your blood. Must have been attack by a wolf. Wasn't a troll or a saber cat because you would have not survived. I brought you here, tended to your wounds and your broken arm to the best of my ability, and have waited for you to wake up. You've been out for, I think… three days now. At least that's when I brought you here." He stood up, and stretched. "Since you've been out for so long, I can only assume how hungry you are. I'll be right back." He went to the door and stopped, before turning slightly to look at her. "Just… don't stab me with anything when I come back this time." He said, chuckling to himself.

As she watched him leave, instant regret filled her body. She stabbed him. He had helped her and she stabbed him. Surely she was excused of it though, right? She had no where she was and who he was. But she guessed he did forgive her since he had joked about it just now. Besides, she had more pressing matters at hand. Like what in Merlin's name was Windhelm? How did she get there? Obviously she wasn't in London anymore, but she had no recollection of what had happened. The last thing she remembered before waking up in the cold, unwelcoming room, was waking up to go to work at Florishv and Blotts, and when she got there, Harry and Ron were waiting for her. They had some questions for her about a case they were working on. But for the life of her she couldn't remember what the case or the questions were about.

As she sat there pondering, her masked friend came back into the room, only now he now longer had his cowl or mask on. He was carrying a tray with a cup, a half a loaf of bread, and a bowl which she guessed had soup in it, giving there was steam floating out of the top. As he got closer to her she could see the details of his face really stand out.

He was a young man, and not that bad looking if she was being completely honest. His hair was short with natural little spikes that poked out on top of his head here and there, and he had a thin braid on the side of his head that dangled just past his left ear to the middle of his neck. His eyes were an icy blue colour, and he had a few scars that went down his face. He went over to his chair and pushed it over to the side of her cot. He sat down and handed her the tray, which she took with brief hesitation.

As she ate the food he gifted to her, he picked up a book from the shelf underneath her bedside table and started to read. 'Three Thieves' it said on the cover. She studied him out of the corner of her eye as he read. He gave out this very calm, nonchalant aura, and she could tell he had a silent confidence about him. He was also letting her be - he wasn't bombarding her with questions, as if he was waiting for her to give him a sign that it was okay for him to continue asking.

After a few minutes passed, and her food almost gone, she cleared her throat and looked at him.

"Thank you… for… saving me… and… I am truly sorry for stabbing you."

He looked up from his book and gave her a small, warm smile. "It's quite alright love. But, I think," he shut his book and scooted his chair closer to her "in light of you stabbing me, you should at least let me redress your wounds… which is what I was trying to do when you stabbed a six inch blade into my shoulder." He said laughing to himself. She nodded and laid down.

"I'm going to lift your shirt up, okay?"

"Okay…" he lifted her shirt up just below her breasts as he did before, but frowned at the sight he saw.

"What? What's wrong?" she said when she saw his face.

"Well… when you decided to go on your little escapade, your sutures ripped open." He said, wiping up the blood that was leaking out of her deep wound. She grimaced at the pain, biting her cheek as to not scream. At that moment, he handed her a clean rag. She gave him a questionable look.

"It's for you to bite down on. I'm going to have to take the remaining sutures out and replace them; and, if I'm being honest, it's going to be extremely painful. That's," he pointed to the rag, "so you don't bite your tongue off in the process."

She was very hesitant, but did as was instructed. She was glad she did, because he was correct; it hurt like hell. Feeling him unstitch, clean it up, and then re-stitch it, at an incredibly slow rate was gruesome. He wiped up the remaining blood when he was finished, and pulled her shirt down.

"So… if you don't mind me asking… what's your name?" he asked, discarding the bloody rags and putting the remaining medical supplies in the small box.

Hermione took the rag out of her mouth and dropped it on the ground, trying to buy herself some time before having to answer his question.

"Luna… Lovegood." She muttered quietly.

"Pleasure to meet you Luna. I'm Salazar. Salazar Slytherin."


End file.
